


Important Instructions

by wubz-bubx-redux (Inorganic_soot)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Gratuitous Smut, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Canon, Virginity Kink, amnesiac!Stan, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 08:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11756031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inorganic_soot/pseuds/wubz-bubx-redux
Summary: Stan forgets how totake careof himself. Ford lends a hand.





	Important Instructions

The boat rocks, gentle and soothing, tethered to port. It tugs at the rope tying it down as if begging to be free. Inside, the cabin is dark but watery moonlight seeps in from the edges of the covered porthole.

“Sixer.”

Ford rolls over, mumbling in his sleep. The humidity has caused his hair to frizz further and the sheets to stick to his body.

“Come on, Ford.” Louder this time, a warm hand touches his arm.

Ford throws an arm over his head, trying to block out the noise. He makes a disgruntled sound.

“Stanford!” It is yelled into Ford’s ear. He jerks up, barely able to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. His eyes blink open wearily and he focuses on Stan.

“What is it?” Ford is tired from a hard day’s work. He wants to _sleep_.

Without his glasses, Stan is fuzzy around the edges but there is unmistakeable redness in his cheeks, bright splashes of colour on his skin. “Ford, uh, I – I need your help.” His voice is high and cracking with embarrassment.

Ford does not have the patience for this, they have to be up at dawn tomorrow to set sail, to finally go on their adventure. “With _what_?” He snaps.

Stan makes a slight gesture to the lower half of his body. Ford can barely make out the jut of something sticking out from his boxers. His brother’s erection. He feels a little faint. “What do you want me to do?” He sounds more nervous than Stanley.

“Fix it.” Stan is blushing to his ears. Ford blanches.

“You – That is quite inappropriate; I mean, very, very inappropriate. Why is this even coming up now?”

Stan is staring at him. “Did you just make a pun?”

Ford gives him a withering look in response.

“Well, kinda. It’s happened before but they’ve gone away. This thing’s been like that for ages.”

“And why haven’t you gotten rid of it?” Ford feels like he’s in the twilight zone, or asleep. This is one of the weirder nightmare. He pinches himself to make sure.

“That’s what I was trying to say before you interrupted me, Ford. I don’t know how!” Stan sounds irritated and angry. His cock has been erect for a painfully long time.

Ford pauses. “You don’t know how?” He repeats, trying to grasp the meaning behind those words.

“I mean, I don’t remember!” He taps his head meaningfully, “I’ve only been around for a week and the important stuff has come back. This wasn’t part of it. Christ, I feel like I’m gonna die. You gotta help me.” Stan is clearly desperate. “Wait, it’s not like a disease or anything?”

“Calm down, Stanley. This is a completely normal occurrence.” He feels a sudden and overwhelming sympathy for his father, who sat them down for a very enlightening talk when they were 12 and were going through bed sheets a little too quickly. This is perhaps even worse than being on the receiving end. “Your body is aroused.”

Stan looks at him uncomprehendingly, like he did when he first saw him after being shot with the memory-gun. _Shit_. Maybe he should start at the beginning.

“Stan, do you know where children come from?”

“Pregnant ladies.” Stan says this slowly, like he’s only just being reminded of it.

“And how do people get pregnant?”

Stan hesitates, his face goes slack for a moment and a light shines in his eyes. “Oh. Okay, I remember that but what has that gotta do with what’s going on right now. I don’t see any women here.”

Ford puts his head in his hands. “You— you have to touch yourself.” He is proud that his voice neither wavers nor breaks.

“Ford, I’m always touching myself.” The naïve innocence is not a show.

Ford can’t find it within himself to laugh, the humour is muddied by something dark inside him that is eager to tarnish and debase. He tries to draw on his last reserves of sanity and strength and takes a deep breath. “That’s not what I meant; you have to take your hand and grip the base of it.” He then mimes the universal sign for jerking off, a loose hold and a twitch of his wrists. It is lewd and puerile, he doesn’t think he’s ever had to do that before.

Stan slips a hand into his boxers, hand circling his dick—

“In private! My god.” Ford is covering his eyes but he’s left a gap between his fingers. He doesn’t think about why he did that.

“Ford, I get that this a— a taboo thing, I think? But I really don’t know what’s going on and I’d like your help. Can you teach me?” Stan sounds vulnerable, uncharacteristically sincere. It wears away at the last remnant of Ford’s self-control.

“Okay, just do it, Stanley.” His voice trembles a little bit. He’s said it, it’s out. It’s done. There’s nothing else he can do. It doesn’t really calm him.

He leans on his elbow and watches Stanley try to masturbate. His brother’s tongue is sticking out beneath his teeth, glistening. His head is cocked to the side, he is focused but muscle memory isn’t taking over. His stance is wrong, close legged and awkward. His hold is too light, it only fuels the fire, doesn’t quench it. Obviously, sexual needs have not been one of Stan’s priorities in the past 30 years. He feels a swell of guilt.

“It’s not working.” Stan is frustrated, close to tears. Stanley, who trusts him, who needs him to take care of him right now. He has to do this. He inhales. Once. Twice. He can do this.

“Listen to me.” He is surprised with himself. His voice is pitched heavy and low, a slow rumble at the bottom of his chest. “Spread your legs a little, brace yourself against the top bunk and—” He pauses, digging out the tube of lubricant he’s kept under the pillow, “use this.”

He slips into the role of an instructor, a teacher, with disconcerting ease.

Stan seems to calm at his words, tension leaving his shoulders as he listens to his brother. Ford senses a small vibration, Stan is leaning against the thin frame of the beds, his weight resting on his left forearm. His head is bent, tucked into the space formed by his bent elbow, lube held in the other hand. “This okay, Sixer?”

Ford shifts, sitting up; he can see more of Stanley this way. He wants to stop himself, Stan is coming to him in a moment of vulnerability but he has always been a little too selfish. Or altruistic. Depending on how one looked at it. “Take off your shirt.” His voice betrays none of his internal debate, firm and strong.

Stan looks up at him, hair partially obscuring his eyes and complies. He hands Ford the tube, wordlessly asking him to hold it. Their fingers graze against each other. The worn night-shirt is pulled off with sultry slowness revealing the curve of Stan’s stomach, the warm expanse of his chest, and the tight buds of his peaked nipples. It lands in a heap on the floor at Stan’s feet. The first thing he notices is that flush on Stan’s cheeks extends down to his chest, the next is that the cloth pushed out  by his brother’s dick is darker than the surrounding fabric – damp.

“Better?” Stan asks, sotto voce, unwilling to disturb the heat building between them.

“Yes, Stanley. Now pull down your boxers, after that extend your hand. Then resume the original position I asked you to take."

A warm curl of arousal causes his abdomen to twitch as Stan obeys, exposing the wet, purpled glans of his dick. His hand nudges Ford’s legs, the backs of his fingers trailing up the calf of one of his crossed legs. Ford takes the tube and squeezes, watching as the thick liquid collects on his brother’s palm, a melting mound, thicker and shinier than water.

“Rub it between your palms, it’s going to be too cold otherwise.”

Stan nods, and the squelch of his palms slipping against each other is erotic and obscene. Ford’s pants are tight. He has an idea, Stan may be a more visual learner. He uncaps the tube again, and the sound causes Stan to focus shift onto him.

“Do what I do.” He whispers and begins to jerk himself off slowly, gliding his hand up and down his own length, more of a tease than an actual caress. Stan does not look away.

“Ah— Ah, this feels good, Sixer. But it’s still – _fuck_ – not enough.”

Ford slips off the bed, and Stan jerks slightly in surprise. He crowds up behind him and closes his fist around his brother’s hand and guides. Practical instruction is where Stan excels, he should have realised that earlier. He kisses the shell of Stan’s ear. “See. It’s not that hard, Stanley.”

“I swear if you make another fucking pun, I’ll kill ya.” He sounds lust hazed and his words slur together. Anger reducing into soft edged want and need.

When Ford laughs, Stan can feel the vibrations in his chest. He can also feel the feel the press of his dick, rubbing against his ass. Unthinking, he rolls back on it and Ford moans, hot and filthy in his ear.

Ford is stroking Stan faster, smooth friction around him. The heat of his palm is other-worldly. Stan is sure this is far better than anything he could do to himself.

“Come on, Stan. You’re almost there.” Ford is panting into his brother’s ear. “Move your hips a little.”

“Y-yeah. Christ.” Stan can’t help but listen, moving with a primal need that transcends thought. Ford twists at the head, he keeps each movement of his hands short and tight, attention concentrated entirely on it and not the rest of the shaft. Stan is groaning in either complaint or arousal, Ford does not know. But he feels a tremble against his chest and Stan ruts forward, fucking into his hand. His ass tightens with each thrust, muscles in his back rippling.

Ford’s hands are wet with pre-come, sweat and lube. Stan has descended into madness and continues to move with him. They work in tandem, communicating in half-repressed moans and deep sighs. Ford has never felt the need the desire to capture a moment, to have it extends into forever, but for this he can make an exception. Stan’s breath shudders in suddenly, like he’s been punched, and he’s coming in hot spurts all over Ford’s hand. He collapses against the bed.

Ford keeps rubbing until his brother is whining with over-sensitivity. He then takes his seed spattered hand and rubs it into the space right below Stan’s balls, lubricating it. Ford is still hard. He undoes his zip and frees his erection.

“Close your legs tight.” He pushes the tip of his dick into the channel between Stan’s thighs and rocks forward. “Oh—”

“Holy shit, Sixer.”

He leans back and watched his dick disappear inside the press of Stanley’s skin, rubbing against his hole. He puts one hand on Stan’s back, a wordless command that ensures his brother will not move. “You can – _ah_ – get off in many different ways, Stan. I don’t think you know that. Not anymore.”

The thick material of his pants must be harsh against the thin skin of Stan’s thighs. He can see the reddened impression of where the metal of his zipper must have pressed against Stan’s ass. It feels satisfying, to be fully clothed while Stan is bare before him.

“Mm… I don’t think I’ve ever been happier that I lost my memory. This feels so _good_.” Stan’s words are muffled as his face is pushed into the mattress.

Ford is certain that Stan can’t be hard. “Why – _Nngh_ – do you like this?”

“I dunno. I just, I like this. Like being beneath you, close to you.”

A tightness unspools itself inside Ford, a tension is lifted. But he has to be sure. “You want this?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I always have.” Stan then squeezes his legs and oh god it is glorious. Ford cannot control himself, he doesn’t think he’s meant to. He grips Stan’s hips tightly, thrusting shallowly as he rides out his orgasm.

He slips out from Stan and lies down next to him.

“I feel sticky, Ford. Fix it.” Stan complains, endearingly childish. His teeth bright as he grins.

Ford reaches for Stan’s crumpled shirt before thinking better of it. He falls to his knees between Stan’s legs. “I can do that but are you sure you’re ready for another lesson?” He’s smiling against the fragile, tacky skin on the inside of Stan’s thighs.

“You know me, Sixer. Always ready to learn something new.”

They don’t sleep much that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look at me run away from my problems by writing porn.
> 
> hmu on: https://wubblez-bubblez.tumblr.com/


End file.
